


Small Things

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:31:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't want much for Christmas; just an alternative universe of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Things

**Author's Note:**

> My [deancasweek](http://deancasweek.tumblr.com/post/71032003502/tomriddlerys-gift-fic-small-things-3316-words-pg) secret santa gift for tomriddlery~

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

”Cas?”

Dean raised his eyes to the motel room’s window and pushed aside the journal he’d been writing into for the past twenty minutes. The cold white light hit him in the face and made him squint, toes curling under the table from the subconscious expectation of a winter wind’s frost to follow soon after. Snow kept falling slowly and steadily over the already white scenery, and if coffee would have been readily available, Dean would have now wanted a cup. The thought of walking out and trying to steer the car through the frozen roads for a steaming takeaway didn’t appeal to him however, so with a certain sense of defeat he abandoned the idea. Instead he swung around on his chair, leaned his elbows over the back rest and smiled an uncertain smile at the angel sitting still and straight on the bed.

Castiel tilted his head expectingly: his pale pink lips parted as Dean watched, turning the younger’s smile warmer than it had been to begin with. He felt a strange pressure in his chest and shivered, skin turning to goosebumps and the shiver prompting his hand to run through his hair, a clear sign that he’d just been led astray and had subsequently gotten a little lost. All it took was a look at the older male, that’s all it had ever taken.

The angel looked pale in the winter light and in contrast, his hair seemed blacker than it really was. A fitting image for the Christmas week, even if Dean wasn’t all too into the event nor did he much care for the Hallmark angels watching over fake Jesuses all over the country. At least Cas wasn’t wrapped in a sheet.  
Sure could have been, Dean found himself thinking.  
He had to lower his gaze but the chuckle still escaped him at the thought.

The angel’s brows had knit closer together and he wore that familiar squint when Dean looked up again a moment later.  
”What is so funny?” Castiel asked him in the neutral tone of bafflement he often assumed when Dean’s behaviour made no sense to him.

”Nothing, never mind,” Dean huffed, still grinning wide, ”I was going to ask you something real stupid, though.”

”Are you still going to ask me that?” the angel questioned in turn.  
His hands slipped between his knees as he leaned forwards, but the slight tilt of his head was still present as he watched Dean.

”I guess.”  
The issue wasn’t the motel room, and it wasn’t so much the situation they were in either, but Dean wished for something else, something… out of the ordinary or rather, something very ordinary instead of the unordinary that was the usual state of things in his life. He wanted somewhere far, far away from his notes and summing up cases for Sam’s books, he wanted away from Idaho, away from his life. None of that was particularly bad, he simply longed for another kind of an adventure, a trip somewhere so different it would give him the sense of safety and comfort that he lacked in his life now - had always lacked. And there he was, his ticket to anywhere, anytime, sitting on the bed wrapped in his trench coat and with his tie upside down as usual. Unlike usual, Castiel had ditched his shoes by the doorway in a vain attempt at normalcy: Dean’s view slid down to the tips of his black socks and he smiled absently.  
”It’s a lot to ask.”

Castiel stood up – Dean was still looking at his socks as he crossed the space between them and laid his hands upon the younger’s shoulders. His body leaned closer until Dean’s face pressed against his abdomen; the younger rubbed his nose against the fabric of the older’s shirt and sighed deep, closing his eyes. Castiel’s fingers slid through his hair and rubbed gently at his scalp: heat rushed up the younger’s neck and warmed up the tips of his ears.  
”You never ask small things of me, Dean. I don’t see the need for anything unpleasant that you would ask of me, however, so I’m prepared to make some sacrifices to provide whatever else it might be that you need. Depending, it is customary for people to give presents on Christmas, so you may think of your request as the present you wish from me.”

Dean let out a quiet, breathless laughter.  
”That’d mean I’d need to get you something, which is tricky since you’re an angel and don’t really carry much with you. See the problem?”

Castiel’s fingers bent around Dean’s hair and tugged at the bunch gently, releasing a small whimper from the man.  
”I will make a request later, if that is the kind of a deal we have to make.”

”Deal,” Dean confirmed and breathed in the older’s scent.  
He lifted his hands and pushed them under Castiel’s coat, palms pressing against his sides and feeling him breathe slowly and infrequently, the restful kind of breathing that Dean associated with sleep. In and out, in and out, in and out, it was much like the waves of the ocean on a windless day.   
  
In and out.  
  
”Okay, so, what I want from Christmas is one of those fancy alternative universes you angels love so much. Can you do that for me?”  
  
Castiel stood still and Dean could almost hear him thinking. Then his fingers resumed caressing the younger’s hair again and he relaxed.  
”I wouldn’t know why you’d want that, but it is doable, with few limitations.”

”It’s okay. Like, for just a couple days, nothing fancy, nothing like – like a whole world or anything. Just… a trip somewhere cool. Somewhere calm, nice, Christmas-y but not like… not like the North Pole or anything. Together, you and me, just for the two of us.”

”You are actually asking me to be your vacation agency.”

”And a tour guide, yeah, basically,” Dean chuckled.  
He pushed himself up and looked at Castiel, seeking for signs of frustration or hesitation, but instead he saw the angel smiling a little in a manner that made Dean feel like he thought he was being adorably stupid somehow. Perhaps he was. He just wanted out, just for a few days, curled up somewhere nice and warm and safe and good, no interference, no death or violence, no war, no nothing.  
It seemed to him, an amateur as he was in the matters of world creation, a minor achievement for a being that could carve out whole cities and states and alternative futures. He just needed a valley, even a cabin floating in the middle of nothing would do. Carefully, he told that to Cas, and the other stood there listening to him and petting his hair as he gave out the little details he wished for, and then, the final touch:  
”Surprise me, Cas. Add in anything you want.”

Castiel leaned down and kissed him on his lips, slow and gentle as ever, and Dean responded in kind.  
”It’s not Christmas yet,” the older spoke quiet and calm, if a little teasing.

”Crap. Oh well. Get us coffees now, will you, then?”

With a low chuckle, the angel turned from him and vanished.

”Goddamnit, Cas.”

*

Dean woke while it was still dark and stumbled out of the bed unable to locate the bedside table. As a result he leaned to thin air and felt his foot get tangled in the blanket even as he fell; his elbow scraped against the floor that seemed to be made out of actual planks instead of the fake parquet he’d definitely noted the night before. His fingers slid along the smoothed-out surface, the newly acquired bruise on his elbow throbbing, and he noted that the planks were old and thick and smelled homely in a way that he wasn’t familiar with. His long tee slid up his back when he got back on his knees, kicked aside the blanket and tried to make sense of his surroundings.  
Somewhere close by, a door opened: through the widening gap a soft kind of yellow light passed through into the room and slithered further and further along the floor and under the bed until it finally reached Dean.

Soft steps carried someone into the room, and Dean was near convinced it was Castiel by the weight and sound of each landing of the approaching feet. He received confirmation when the older kneeled in front of him, smelling of himself and vaguely of cinnamon.  
”I was going to say good morning,” the angel muttered in a tone of warm, compassionate amusement, ”but it would seem a little…”

”A little douchey, yeah.”  
Dean pulled himself up on his knees and chuckled, wrapping his arms around Castiel before taking a proper look at him which resulted in a slight surprise when he did not feel the usual fabric of his coat or even the white shirt but soft, thick wool instead. His fingers bent into the cloth and he grasped fistfuls of it, nose digging into the male’s shoulder as his eyes closed again. Castiel leaned his chin against the top of Dean’s head and he hugged him back, fingers sliding comfortingly down his back.  
”Is  _'Merry Christmas'_  a better way to start the day? It’s still very early. I wasn’t expecting you to get up so soon.”

”Four hours, man,” Dean reminded him and pulled back to take a look, ”I play by my own set of rules. It’s Christmas?”

”Yes.”

”Then, um, yeah. Merry Christmas. What’s that  _thing_  on you?”  
Dean’s fingers picked at the thick grey sweater the older was wearing.

”A shirt.”

”Yeah, I get that, but -”

”A season-appropriate shirt. Come,” Castiel prompted and grabbed a hold of the younger’s hand to help him up.

Clumsily, Dean got back on his feet and followed Castiel out of the room; the other never let go of his hand and he accepted that without a complaint. He’d managed to forget what he’d asked for in no more than three days of waiting, but now that they were here – now that he had his gift, he felt free of all the restraints he’d otherwise held up. They were alone. They were good. This was  _their_  world and there wasn’t a thing Dean could do wrong here.

As they entered a short corridor (opposite of the bedroom was a small, brightly lit bathroom that Dean noted as the door wasn’t fully closed) and moved to a relatively large living room-kitchen combination with a large fireplace by the wall and windows opening up to blueish darkness outside. It was there that Castiel let go of his hand, and Dean didn’t bother checking where he was going as he felt drawn to look out of the window to see where he was instead. Not much was visible through to the world outside, but he could see the snow, the thick virgin snow that lay across the scenery like miniature hills spread to light up the darkness. Far out there he could see mountains lining up against the velvet starry sky, but a front of clouds approached and had already spread over the white moon, hiding its light for the main part.

Dean’s hand landed upon a box of matches and he looked down to the window pane: there were two small, thick candles, the white one an inch taller than the fat red one, and out of a whim he picked out a match and lit them both. The fireplace was also lit and its glow the only source of light in the room, but it was bright enough to see everything, and its warmth made Dean feel even more comfortable than he’d been before.  
  
With the candles lit he turned over to look where Castiel was: he stood by the small kitchen, and from underneath the long thick sweater Dean had previously noticed he now saw the worn, soft-looking jeans that the other was wearing, as well as his bare feet.  
”Cas?” he called, walking on a few steps to reach the middle of the room, ”Do you like me half-naked or do I get to wear clothes, too?”

Castiel cast a look over his shoulder and chuckled.  
”I like you half-naked,” he said rather cheerfully, ”but you can choose to cover yourself if you wish to. I brought your bag along, it’s by the door.”

Dean cast a look in the direction that Castiel had nodded towards, conflicted between two urges: one to put on a pair of pants to cover the black boxers he wore and to cover him from the occasional draft that lingered indoors like the spirit of winter itself, and another a desire to keep asking questions. Eventually he realised he could do both and that dressing up would take the least amount of time, so that was the choice that he made.

He found his large black bag from the box of a room that separated the door out from the corridor leading up to the main room and the bedroom/bathroom crossroads. Didn’t take long to dig out the sweatpants he’d subconsciously chosen – the same shade of grey as the sweater Cas was wearing – and once he’d pulled on those, he felt ready to face the day.  
Realisation hit him in slow motion as he crossed back to Castiel: ‘facing the day’ here probably meant nothing but slacking off, sleeping in a heap with the older and eating chocolate and gingerbreads, or at least if the angel had thought of stacking up with the latter part.

When he reached the angel, he was immediately handed a cup of steaming coffee before ever even thinking of asking for it. Cas smiled at him somewhat sheepishly and Dean couldn’t hold back from stroking his cheek and neck as a reward for the nice welcome. Then he noted the cup in the older’s own hands, too.  
”You an angel here still, or?” he felt inclined to ask first.

”Somewhat,” Castiel responded with a small shrug of his shoulders, ”I retain my powers but I’m resting.”

”Meaning?”

”Meaning that I will eat and drink and grow cold and sweat like you do,” the older huffed, sipping his drink and watching Dean with a certain sparkle in his eyes, ”but also that I can stop doing so the moment I feel it gets too bothersome.”

Dean huffed into his cup and as a reward felt a few tiny drops landing on the tip of his nose from the mug.  
”So… we’re… here.”

”Yes.”

”Where’s  _here_ , exactly?” he asked next, arm wrapping subtly around Castiel’s waist.  
He pulled the angel closer to him until their hips and sides were pressed together, and he felt Castiel’s arm in turn moving loosely around his hips and his fingers bending around the thin fabric of his shirt.

”Nowhere,” Cas replied uncaringly, ”But you can find out the details later.”

Dean felt the corner of his mouth twitching up.  
”Sounds good. Sure I don’t need to roast a wendigo in the fireplace anytime soon, though?”

”Quite,” the angel replied with a wide smile.

The kiss they shared tasted of black coffee.

  
*

They watched the morning break on the porch of the cabin in the middle of nowhere. The rising sun illuminated the details Castiel had told Dean to keep an eye out for quite slowly, but the brilliant shades of deep blood red, purple and eventually gold to white and light blue above the mountaintops were well worth the wait. The air was cold enough to nip but Dean was wrapped inside a giant woven blanket with pictures of snowflakes embedded on it, side to side with Castiel whose body warmth together with his made the space quite cozy. Both of them had red on their faces, the tips of their noses and the flesh upon their cheekbones getting the most of it, but the worst of the cold could be taken away by pulling the blanket over the lower part of their faces for a minute or two. Warmth spread back to the chilled parts like water rushing down rocks in a stream, always reliably, always as quick.  
It wasn’t the kind of cold that made Dean uncomfortable, although he was quite certain this was the result of the world not being  _real_. He preferred it this way.

When the sunrise’s brilliance had faded, he stood up and jumped in the snow. His bare feet broke through the snow and the cold bit hard into them, but he’d been through much worse and that didn’t stop him from wading into the midst of it.  
”This hurts,” he chuckled, turning back to Castiel and pulling one leg up from the white to rub at the sole of the foot.

”Of course it hurts,” the angel huffed, brow raised unimpressedly, ”Come back.”

Dean did, and they returned indoors. There was indeed chocolate in the cabin – in fact, there was a whole cupboard filled with it. He grabbed a couple packs and retreated to the couch with them, and when Castiel sat behind him and wrapped arms around him, he complained he’d get fat before they’d run out of time.  
The angel responded with a dismissive yet affectionate laughter, and five pieces of chocolate later Dean found himself much more interested in the older than in continuing the feast. They made love on the couch and fell asleep in a heap, just as Dean had predicted.

”Cas…” was Dean’s first word when he drifted back from his nap, feeling much too throughoutly heated up under the blanket with the older’s body underneath him and the glow of the now blackened firewood still radiating against them, ”… will someone notice we’re gone?”

”Huh?”  
The other wasn’t quite awake yet. His fingers slid onto Dean’s back and Dean felt and heard him yawn, but his face was still against the angel’s chest so he didn’t see it happen. A part of him would have wanted to.  
”No. Or rather, yes, but I did give them a notice beforehand.”

”Right.”  
Dean closed his eyes again and chuckled.  
”How long will this last?”

”Two days. Then I’m dragging you back.”

”Better get back to eating all that chocolate, I guess.”  
The scent of the cabin was dulling in Dean’s nose, but he felt other shades in it now, mainly the smell of old coffee and the occasional breeze of chocolate scent that wafted from the open box on the low table next to them.  
”One thing, though.”

Castiel shifted and pulled himself up in a sitting position: he reached his arm across the distance and picked out a few chocolates from the box, dropping two onto Dean’s expecting palm and biting into the rest himself. Dean wondered what it felt like to eat something you’d created, and right after that he wondered what it was exactly that he was eating; was it real chocolate or some residue of Castiel’s grace? Anna had taught them that a grace was essentially pure creation and Dean recalled this now, concluding that it was indeed real chocolate, and that this was the most useless thing he’d ever seen an angel (at least any angel that was not Gabriel) do with their powers.  
  
”What is the thing you want for Christmas?” he asked, tongue covered in the sticky sweetness of the candy he’d eaten and his palm becoming equally messy with the remaining one slowly melting onto it.

”To be with you,” Castiel replied with a shrug, ”and Sam when we get back. That you show me a real Christmas. And… a sweater like this wouldn’t hurt, either. It’s really comfortable.”

Dean snorted.  
”Really?”

”Really.”


End file.
